


Happy Fourth, Sam

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fourth of July fic, Lots of kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 23:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1959573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean haven't celebrated the fourth of July in years. Sam has mixed feelings about it, from romanticized notions about falling in love with his brother under the stars to Lucifer royally fucking that up in the cage. He doesn't know what to expect when Dean randomly decides to celebrate this year. Mushiness ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Fourth, Sam

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I am so sorry that this is atrociously late. If it helps, I posted it on the fourth on Tumblr, but apparently I'm a huge slacker when it comes to crossposting. Anyway, without further ado...

Sam didn’t really know what to expect. A lifetime ago, the fourth of July was a special time for them, more important and more intimate than birthdays or Christmas or anything. They’d go off, without Dad, and do something special each year. Mostly it was just going to an ice cream shop or watching fireworks from afar, but one year Dean had gotten his own fireworks and they’d almost burnt down the entire field. John had never found out.

Sam still considered that the best day of his life. He also unofficially considered it the day he realized he was in love with brother, not just “I’d jump in front of a bullet for you” or “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone else” but “It’d be so easy to kiss him right now” and the wet dream sort of thing. 

It was also the day he knew he was monumentally fucked.

It’d been pretty easy to hide, really. He knew how to be Dean’s brother. It was practically his identity. All he had to do was pretend nothing had changed.

And if the next July didn’t bring any fireworks of any sort, well, he could pretend easily it didn’t hurt. 

So, when the first fourth of July in the Men of Letters Bunker rolled around, he certainly noticed the date, but didn’t bring it up. Didn’t think Dean would bring it up. 

He had been reading some archaic tome or another when Dean had set down a huge box in front of him and waited, staring at him expectantly.

Sam bookmarked his spot and looked up, quirking an eyebrow and frowning. “Are you gonna tell me what that is?”

Dean’s face almost split in half as he began beaming in excitement, rubbing his hands together before popping the lid off. He looked like he had regressed into a small child from the way he was bouncing up and down on his heels. “Got ‘em half-price last August,” he boasted proudly, still gauging Sam for a reaction. 

Sam couldn’t take his eyes off the various fireworks and firecrackers jammed into the box. There must’ve been enough to keep going for hours. He swallowed suddenly, in case something decided to lump in his throat. He blinked and tore his eyes from the box to Dean. “You…?” he asked, his voice dwindling away to nothing.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, stilling. His brow furrowed. He placed the lid back onto the box gingerly, as if he were worried Sam might go off unexpectedly— not the fireworks. "I mean… I just thought… If that’s all right with you, of course."

Sam laughed abruptly at the absurdity of the statement. He felt as if he had been waiting his entire life for those damdest fireworks, for he and Dean to do this again. “Of course it’s alright!” he coughed, smiling up at Dean. “I just… I wasn’t expecting it.”

"I know," Dean said, his voice and features suddenly softening. He mussed Sam’s hair before picking up the box with a grunt. "I thought we both deserved this, after so long. Olive branching or whatever."

Sam nodded wordlessly as Dean walked away with the box, heading out the door to place them in the trunk of the Impala. 

Sam checked his watch when Dean came back to fetch him, theatrically dipping a low bow and holding the door open. Sam punched him in the arm as he walked past, saying “don’t say it,” at the same moment Dean said, “ladies first!”.

The sun hadn’t set yet, but they didn’t have a space big enough near the bunker to light the fireworks in. Sam got into the passenger seat and unfolded a map from the glove compartment, which Dean batted out of his hands. Ignoring Sam’s protests, he crumpled it up in a ball and tossed it out his window.

"A roadmap doesn’t list the most gorgeous fields of Kansas, little brother," Dean admonished, turning the key in the ignition. The car thrummed to life below them, headlights illuminating the Bunker’s entrance. He tapped his temple. "This does."

Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Bear Grylls,” he teased, leaning back in his seat and watching the scenery slowly roll away.

Sam didn’t recall napping, but he jerked forward when Dean shook his shoulder. He blinked rapidly and gasped. His watch’s backlight illuminated the entire car in the pitch blackness. “Dean, what the hell, it’s already eleven-fucking-thir-“

"Hey, shh, it’s totally worth it," Dean interrupted him, his voice betraying his excitement. 

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you take us?” he demanded.

Dean didn’t even look at him— he just got out of the car and slammed the door, walking around to the trunk. Sam sighed and ran a hand down his face. He was almost scared to get out of the car. He had no idea what surprise, or what  _prank_ , probably, Dean had planned.

When he stepped out onto the grass, Dean was waiting for him, a box of fireworks in his arms and another on the hood. He was grinning again, staring at Sam and waiting for something. Sam cocked his head, frowning.

Then he realized.

He knew this place. His eyes were drawn to the trees on the other side of the field, and the stars twinkling above them. Lost in thought, his mouth hung open as he stepped past Dean as if in a dream.

The last time he’d been here  _had_  been a dream.

This was the field. Where the fireworks first happened, metaphor intended. The fourth of July 1996.

Sam felt he could barely speak. He was glad the darkness covered up the moisture pricking at the corners of his eyes. He turned to gawk at Dean. “How did you…?” he asked, his voice rough and scratchy. 

Dean’s smile had changed. Sam couldn’t really quite place the difference. It was gentler, it made it feel harder to breathe. He decided it looked how the phrase “I love you” would look on Dean’s face. “I never forgot,” he whispered, never taking his eyes off Sam.

And that was enough. Any scant walls, anything holding him back, any cause for doubt melted away in a split second. Sam couldn’t stop the little noise that came from his throat, nor the smile that quirked across his lips and the stupid tear that followed. “Dean…” he said, and didn’t have a large enough vocabulary for all the things he wanted to say to him.

Dean set the box down and had his arms around Sam in two steps. “I know,” he said into Sam’s hair. “Kiddo, I know.” 

Sam curled his arms around Dean tightly, anchoring him there so he couldn’t drift away. So he couldn’t lose him again. He buried his head in the crook of Dean’s neck, closing his eyes and inhaling the gunpowdery smell of his brother. It brought back countless memories, and was always enough to make Sam feel safe.

Dean pulled back slowly after a moment, his hands running down Sam’s arms as he did so before holding Sam’s hands between them.

"Let’s get this show started, huh?" he said, quieter than he had intended, voice cracking. Sam smiled briefly and nodded. 

Dean set up the fireworks with speed and precision, as if he had rehearsed this moment. Maybe, Sam mused, he had. Soon enough there was an impressive display in the center of the field. Dean held up his lighter. “Stand back!” he called, even though Sam was already far enough away. Sam backed up dutifully, leaning his back against the cool metal of the Impala and watching Dean sprint over to him.

Breathless, Dean practically collapsed next to him, standing close enough that their arms touched and Sam could feel the heat radiating off of him. A bright flash of light, then a fizz, then the first batch was off, some quick high-fliers that exploded into sparkles of colored light.

Sam supposed he should be watching what he had been waiting years for, thinking it would never happen again, but the blue and red glow made Dean’s cheekbones stand out, made his smile that much brighter and lighter. It was as if they were burning the weight off of him.

Next came the bigger ones, which were still illegal in most of Kansas.

 _Crack._ Sam flinched. Dean was too enraptured to notice.

The next one was the same, like a gunshot. It was also too bright.

Something kicked in and suddenly Sam was dunked into memories, flashing over him like freezing water. Lucifer dragging him here. Lucifer leaving. Sam thinking he’d died, he was in heaven, he was safe… then Lucifer’s laugh, the one Sam would never forget, and Dean’s face. Then blood and gore and ice and laughter and knives and smiles. And Dean again, in pieces. Dean screaming at him. Begging. 

Laughter.

He’d stored this all away, shoved it down, ignored it, erased the parts of his dreams that included racks and ice picks and Dean’s tears. He’d methodically kept it all away from himself, but now that he was here, it was coming back in waves, like the muscle memory of holding a knife.

In one fell swoop, his safest place, the one Lucifer had to dig deep to find, was ruined again, bashed to pieces.

Sam stiffened, blinking. The fireworks were still going off. Dean was still beside him, clapping enthusiastically as a particularly impressive one cracked and popped several times.

He shook his head like a dog, trying to physically shake the memories off of him. He’d gotten out. Dean had saved him. He wasn’t going to let this ruin the one good thing he had going.

Then he swore he heard a laugh, and it only took one seed of doubt to leave him reeling in fear, stumbling away from Dean and choking back a cry and covering his eyes with his hands against the brightness. Afterimages of fireworks were burned into his retinas, and Sam was confused, bumping into the Impala as he blindly backed away and whimpered.

"Sam?" Dean yelled over the pops and fizzles. He was at his side immediately, unquestioning, lowering him to the ground. Sam felt the wheel’s rims against his back, but refused to remove his hands from his eyes.

"Sammy?" Dean asked again, clearly worried, voice softer and closer to his ear. A hand found it’s way to Sam’s hair and ran through it slowly, fingers carding through long strands over and over again. "You’re kind of freaking me out," Dean confessed, voice cracking, "please tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what’s eating you."

Sam whimpered again and Dean curled an arm around him, murmuring soothing words that Sam couldn’t quite make out repetitively, Dean’s cheek warm against his as Dean leaned his head against Sam’s.

The fireworks show finished and Sam sighed, leaning fully into Dean, his hands dropping to his sides but his eyelids remaining firmly shut. 

"I’m sorry," he croaked, looking up at Dean with watery eyes. He laughed shortly. "God, this was supposed to be a good thing, and I messed it up. I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry Dean,"

"Shut up," Dean said affectionately. "You wanna tell me what that was all about?"

Sam wiped his eyes. “This was my favorite memory. So, obviously, when Lucifer found it, he…” his voice caught in his throat.

Dean swore under his breath, wrangling Sam closer and hugging him tightly. “Fuck, Sam, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

"No, it’s fine," Sam replied immediately. "I’m supposed to be over this, I’m supposed to be fine. It’s my fault."

"Don’t you say that," Dean growled furiously, startling Sam. Dean was looking down at him with a strange mix of fire, affection, and worry. "You go through something like that and you don’t just bounce right back. It’s okay, Sammy. I don’t blame you. I blame the bastard that did this to you and used your memories to turn everything to fucking shit."

Sam shuddered. “No… I think I am okay. I do want this, I swear. And we still have another box,” he offered weakly.

Dean looked down at him, still frowning. “Are you sure?”

Sam could hear the want in Dean’s voice. They had to make up for years and years of fireworkless months. He smiled, mustering up as much courage as he could and putting it behind the expression. “Let’s do it.”

Dean helped him up and asked him a litany of questions, but Sam must’ve passed the health inspection because before he knew it Dean was dashing off again, removing the spent fireworks with the new ones and lighting it up. 

He came running back to Sam and Sam almost jumped out of his skin when Dean slotted his fingers between Sam’s.

"For protection," Dean explained, still gasping, squeezing Sam’s hand. Sam squeezed back. 

The show started up again, and they must’ve mixed up the boxes because this one was milder, with mostly small shoots of colors that lasted only a few seconds. Sam had to admit, it was beautiful, and exactly how he remembered. Not as beautiful as Dean, but a close second.

He turned back to his brother once he knew Dean wasn’t looking and decided the fireworks didn’t actually compare to Dean in the slightest.

Dean’s hand, still entwined with his, suddenly pulled him along and they were dancing under the fireworks, something Sam remembered doing when he was younger. He threw his arms up and whooped, more for Dean’s benefit than his own, earning a laugh out of him.

There was a finale of sorts, and Sam couldn’t stop another flinch from happening. With all the sounds and lights, Sam didn’t know how Dean knew immediately that something was off, but he turned to him and pulled him back to the car, to watch the rest from afar.

"I’m sorry," Sam said again, still shaking, "I want this to be perfect."

Dean shook his head. “Don’t worry,” he smiled. “It is.”

Sam felt his heart flutter as they shared a look, a sort of shared understanding that something had passed between them, that something had been forgiven. Sam felt like laughing when he thought about how he’d been making a hell out of heaven. With Dean’s hand in his, he had felt grounded, at home, and knew with certainty that Lucifer wasn’t here. That he was still in the cage, and there was no chance in hell Sam was letting the devil ruin this moment. Not after everything.

With fireworks exploding in red, white, and blue in the background, Sam leaned forward and kissed Dean gingerly on the lips, a quick, chaste, closed-mouth thing before leaning back and looking into his brother’s eyes.

Dean’s mouth was hanging open. 

"Sam," he said lowly, and for once, Sam couldn’t read him like a book, couldn’t sort through the flickers of emotions crossing Dean’s face.

"I’ve been wanting to do that since that night," Sam confessed.

"1996?" Dean whispered, eyes getting red and watery.

Sam felt a jolt of uncertainty. “Yeah,” he answered. “Happy fourth, Dean.”

Before the words were even completely out of his mouth, Dean was back in his space, pressing him against the Impala, his hands on either side of Sam’s face. He kissed him slowly, urging Sam’s mouth open and taking Sam’s lower lip in his mouth and sucking on in. He drew a moan out of Sam and pulled apart just to breathe for a split second before they clashed together again, Sam’s hands fumbling about in Dean’s hair as Dean kissed him passionately.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, how many kisses they shared. He didn’t care. Finally, Dean pulled apart and rested his forehead against Sam’s, looking at him with so much love it left him doubly lightheaded, the kissing creating a dangerous combination.

"You look like shit," Dean muttered, and Sam could feel his breath on his face. They both broke into smiles at the same time.

Dean kissed him one last time. “Happy fourth, Sam,” he whispered.


End file.
